


Kisss!

by idanit



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Body Image, Crowley's Name is Crawly | Crawley (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Hair, I'm not even that into snake!Crowley but somehow here we are, Kissing, Other, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic Available, Post-Apocalypse, Reading Aloud, Slightly unreliable narrator, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Talking, Touch-Starved, Touching, a lot of dashes, aziraphale's pov, canon divergence in that Crowley likes being a snake, lying in laps, you've heard of Crowley shifting to a snake when shocked. get ready for the reverse.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-31 01:15:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21031712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idanit/pseuds/idanit
Summary: Aziraphale kisses Crowley for the first time when he's a snake. Crowley does not like it.





	Kisss!

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank thesoulofdiscretion from Good Omens fic writers discord for some quick and helpful beta work!

Living with someone exposes things about them you would never have known otherwise, Aziraphale has learnt.

Except they weren’t living together, he and Crowley, no, of course not. They dined together, yes, and drank together, and went to concerts and art galleries and parks. The celebratory lunch at the Ritz turned into a nightcap at Aziraphale’s turned into a breakfast at a pleasantly quaint Soho cafe turned into listening to an impressive collection of records at Crowley’s. But Crowley still slept in his flat and Aziraphale continued to spend hours reading in his bookshop with the door sign ostentatiously declaring it was closed to anyone who would dare to be interested (bar one). And if Crowley slept in the bookshop at random times of day and night as well, and Aziraphale did some light reading while Crowley was watching television on his uncomfortable couch made entirely out of right angles that felt very wrong—well. What was the point of keeping a regular sleep schedule, or a routine, or, in fact, a single home, for beings such as themselves? It was all quite blurry, to be frank. Their lives intertwined in the oddest of ways.

And Aziraphale has known Crowley for a very long time, but now that they were, ah, almost inseparable, he’s been discovering fascinating new things about him that he never thought would be true, or even considered before.

Like: Crowley miracled his clothes, but he put a lot of effort into his hair. (“Growing things, angel, requires going the long way.” “Do you shout at them?” asked Aziraphale, and Crowley shot him a dark look before returning to combing his ginger waves. They were growing longer indeed, and the ends were starting to very endearingly curl up.)

Like: Crowley did read books, although he almost always chose an e-book over a paperback. (Aziraphale knew he wasn’t completely against literature, because they have discussed it in the past, of course, back when even the evenings in big cities stretched long and dreary. But Crowey had gushed about cinema so much since it first came about—“It’s a new era, angel! Words should be spoken just like an image should be seen. Soon there will come an end to wiggly marks on pieces of paper, you’ll see,” he used to say, flashing his teeth—that Aziraphale was under the impression he had stopped reading at all. The amount of times he had recently caught Crowley scrolling through a PDF on his phone spoke of a habit rather than coincidence, though. A habit Crowley apparently had been hiding from him, which made Aziraphale a bit vexed, because, really. There was nothing shameful in liking the older ways in which human culture spread, or in liking the same things as Aziraphale, and anyway, the new era Crowley spoke of only moved the wiggly marks to screens, and films did them no harm whatsoever.)

Like: Crowley changed bodies on a regular basis.

Aziraphale had always assumed his snake form was something he slipped out of around Eden and never looked back, becoming more fond of the human body that came with increased mobility, easier ways of object manipulation and far more extensive means of expression. Apparently, this was incorrect, and Crowley found his scaly form as comfortable as his human one, changing between them like he changed his outfits. Aziraphale would have been surprised it never came up before, but then again, their past meetings usually had at least some semblance of practical purpose and could only be drawn out so much. They had never lounged around the bookshop in companionable silence for extended periods of time, accompanied with a cup of cocoa, a book by some contemporary Nobel Prize laureate Aziraphale has been meaning to get to, and a tartan blanket to ward off the autumn chill of the outside, so perhaps there hadn’t been as many opportunities.

Until now.

Crowley slithered over to Aziraphale’s lap and Aziraphale put his hand on Crowley’s warm scales.

He was more tactile as a snake than he was as a human. That much became evident quite early on; the first time Aziraphale has seen him as a snake since Eden, actually. He had just come back to Crowley’s flat from a 24/7 bakery around the corner (it wouldn’t do not to have a 24/7 bakery in one’s neighbourhood, so the neighbourhood did) and instead of the man-shaped demon he had been expecting, he had found the demon tightly coiled in the far corner of the couch, staring at some inane talk show that glinted off his very non-human scales.

“Crowley?” he’d asked, standing in the doorway, slightly taken aback, and immediately felt silly for it. Yes, still me, what kind of question is that, Crowley would probably say. But the snake form didn’t exactly lend itself to speaking, and so he had just raised his head in greeting and let it fall back on the twists of his body.

Well. If Crowley felt like lying around being a snake, then so be it. Aziraphale sat down beside him with his pastries and switched the channel to something more watchable. Crowley hissed at him; but he could hardly operate a remote control with no hands, so Aziraphale threw him a beatific smile and took another bite of his muffin. It had strawberry jam in it.

He had moved on to an apricot turnover; very tasty, on a flaky French dough, although the fruit didn’t feel very fresh, unlike the ones he had eaten in Marseille back in—when he felt something sliding across the back of his neck and he jumped a little, startled. He turned his head to see Crowley draping himself over his shoulders and poking his head into the paper pastry bag, flicking his tongue at it inquisitively before finally settling with his head on an armrest. Aziraphale relaxed. The sensation of Crowley’s warm, silky sides on his nape was a bit peculiar, but certainly not unpleasant. The fact of Crowley’s warm, silky sides on his nape was what gave him more of a pause, but perhaps he was merely seeking a source of heat. Whatever the reason of the sudden proximity after thousands of years of the two of them keeping their distance might have been, Aziraphale felt rather comforted by the knowledge that his favourite being on Earth and Elsewhere sought it out. It was—nice.

They didn’t move around much more that night and watched two and a half movies of Aziraphale’s choosing before Aziraphale stood up to make them some breakfast tea. When he came out of the kitchen holding two steaming cups, Crowley was tormenting the plants, slender and supple in his more usual vertical manner.

“Are you often a snake?” Aziraphale had asked.

“Yeah. It’s nice to stretch sometimes.” He scowled at the greenery, holding a plant mister, which, Aziraphale suspected, was a prop in some kind of elaborate system of punishment and reward. He made a mental note to remember to give Crowley’s poor subjects some routine words of encouragement when their gardener wouldn’t be around. Crowley looked up to meet his eyes. “If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” said Aziraphale passing Crowley a cup of tea, and that was that.

It changed nothing, as of course it shouldn’t, since the bodies they were wearing were simply costumes and didn’t really matter. Only, when Crowley did his stretching, he always ended up wrapped around Aziraphale this way or that, and, to be honest, Aziraphale started to look forward to it. Crowley’s body was surprisingly soft despite its—often literally—dormant strength, and although Aziraphale wasn’t sure about the proper etiquette in this situation and tried to be respectful, it was just impossible not to gently rub the shiny scales of Crowley’s head, or absentmindedly run his fingers over the long red-and-black line of his body, like now, with his lap full of a dozing-off reptile.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s back, deeply absorbed in his favourite invention of humanity, wiggly marks and all.

It was already dark outside when he started to feel like the book, although good in and of itself, with strong character voices and gripping emotional scenes, would go rather nicely with a sushi set, or maybe a tahchin from that Persian restaurant within walking distance of the shop. He placed a bookmark between the pages and put his hands under Crowley’s coils in an attempt to move him to the sofa, where he could continue his nap until Aziraphale came back.

Crowley was having none of it. It seemed to Aziraphale that he made himself heavier with a surreptitious demonic miracle.

“Come on. I’ll just pop out to get something for dinner. I’ll be back soon and we can eat here if you’d like.”

When Aziraphale didn’t relent, Crowley raised his head to his eye level with a drawn-out hiss, which didn't faze Aziraphale in the slightest.

“I let you indulge in your habits, dear, so let me indulge in mine,” Aziraphale said with a smile and placed a soft kiss on Crowley’s scaly nose before promptly falling out of the armchair as Crowley abruptly changed back into human form throwing them both off balance.

“Nh—wa—excuse me, what the hell was that?” he snapped, gathering his limbs from the floor. Always a few difficult seconds before he remembered how to manage having more bones and a less twisty spine. It usually looked adorable, but now, now—something was wrong.

“What was what? Or rather, what was that?” Aziraphale scrambled to his feet and straightened his waistcoat. “You should be glad I wasn’t holding the cocoa. What came over you?”

“What came over me?” Crowley gasped, struggling for words. “I’m not some kind of-of—pet for you to coddle,” he spat out and stormed out of the shop, leaving Aziraphale free to eat wherever he pleased at his own discretion, with a good book to finish reading, and, strangely, no real appetite for either of those.

Well. That was just preposterous and a waste of a perfectly good evening.

  


* * *

  


He tried to give Crowley space, he genuinely did. He went out for that dinner, he powered through the rest of the book, suddenly finding the characters irritating and the prose affected, and he spent most of the following day perusing numerous specialised bookshops in search for a particular edition of T.S. Eliot he has been meaning to find. Bookshopping was not something he often did, but it was something he always enjoyed; much more than bookselling, certainly. As he was standing in a sparsely-lit aisle of a cosy Bloomsbury shop holding several new acquisitions that weren’t Eliot, though, he felt anxiety creep upon him. They hadn’t quarrelled since that whole Antichrist business. Perhaps hoping that they never would again was foolish, but this sudden separation after months of—something, of companionship, and yes, of—proximity, it just left him very, very alone. He didn’t care for the feeling. 

The growing realisation that he had missed something important, as this couldn’t possibly be about Crowley being too lazy to let him stand up because he got peckish, didn’t help matters. Was it that he tried to lift him up? Was it that he gave him a peck on his nose? Oh, it was all very silly. It needed clearing up. He was giving Crowley his space, but talking was hardly a violation of personal boundaries.

The door of Crowley’s flat would gladly open before him if he so desired in the same way that the door of the bookshop always opened before Crowley, but he knocked anyway; a courtesy he hoped would not go unappreciated.

There was only silence. A panicked thought about century-long naps flashed in his mind. He knocked again.

“What?” Crowley shouted from somewhere far inside.

“Can I come in?”

There came an indistinct grunt muffled by the door. Aziraphale waited. Finally, the lock clicked and he took it for as much of an invite as he was going to get.

It was already late afternoon and the flat was dark. Aziraphale knew his way around, but he still slowed down as if afraid to trip over something invisible. The plants were still, which was the way of most houseplants in the world, but not Crowley’s, never his; they should whisper, or shiver, or turn their leaves curiously. It only took a few moments to find Crowley sprawled out on the couch with his back turned away from him, but all of Aziraphale’s irritation had already given way to unreasonable dread.

He almost wished there was some room left on the couch so that he could pointedly not take it, show Crowley that he would not crowd him; as it was, he miracled himself a chair and gingerly sat down on the edge of the seat.

He took a breath.

“I’m sorry, Crowley. I really am.” All at once, it didn’t matter anymore whatever it was that he had done wrong. He didn’t mean it. He came to talk, but maybe they don’t have to, after all; they’ve done a lot of not talking in the past and it served them just fine. Maybe they can just go back to what they’ve had: dinners and breakfasts and scratching Crowley’s scales and going to concerts and watching his hair grow. The whole thing was still ridiculous, it’s only been a day, and Crowley was being overdramatic, and Aziraphale, too, might be getting a little bit overdramatic, but it all didn’t matter. He needed Crowley to understand. “I clearly misstepped and made you uncomfortable, I just didn’t think you’d be opposed—

Crowley murmured something and Aziraphale stopped short to hear him.

“‘S not that! You don’t get it, do you? Don’t apologize for something you don’t get.”

Ah. Aziraphale wrung his hands guiltily. Talking it is, then.

“I’m very confused, Crowley.”

Crowley shifted, an uneasy amorphous black shape blending with the shadows, then sighed into the backrest, resigned.

“You said you didn’t mind it when I’m a snake, but I didn’t think you’d see me for something—lesser, Aziraphale—” His voice was getting louder by the word, but it didn’t improve Aziraphale’s comprehension in the least.

“What?”

“—but I guess I’m not even a lowly demon, I’m just no better than a stray cat you can pet and hug and—”

“Crowley?”

“—and kiss when it makes a particularly stupid face like in those videos—”

“Crowley! Stop, stop, where is all of this coming from?”

“Well, I don’t exactly see you going around and stroking my back when I’m like this, or, kissing me on the mouth, do I?”

Crowley’s back was a tense line that wasn’t exactly inviting. Aziraphale wished he would turn around and look at him, because frankly, he was even more lost than before.

“Why, I’ve been—stroking your back when you’re a snake now and then for some time now, but you never complained, and, and you never seemed inclined to…”

“Ng—I-I just thought.” Crowley cut him off only to grow quiet again. He let out another frustrated sigh. “That it was easier this way and maybe you’ll—eventually. Warm up to touching. Generally.” His last words were almost drowned out by the cushion.

Aziraphale felt a pleased smile tugging at his lips, but the atmosphere was still strained, and Crowley seemed so fragile. He suddenly wondered if he had spent the entire night and day in this cold, empty flat, on this uncomfortable couch. If he, too, had felt very, very alone.

“Oh, dear. I don’t think you need to warm me up. In fact, I thought it was just you being cold-blooded—but, anyway. Um. That, that I kissed you? That was different?”

“Of course it was.” Crowley scoffed. “I knew you wouldn’t do it if I wasn’t like that, so it just meant you were thinking of me differently when I am in a different form. And I’m still the same.”

Aziraphale took a moment to consider this and found that, to his shame, it was true.

He enjoyed what they had, the time spent together, the closeness. They both admitted as much. But the disparity of their bodies made it easier, and he had assumed Crowley might not want to be touched in his other body if he had reached out as a snake first. Aziraphale didn’t want to look at it too closely before, but now Crowley was being open, and they were doing this talking thing, and he wanted to do better, meet him halfway, so: he was aware that was a very convenient assumption for him to make. He barely dared to touch Crowley’s arm to draw his attention to something when he was human, not to mention—cuddling, yes, that’s what it was. Meanwhile, Crowley apparently assumed Aziraphale was not interested in any human touching seeing as he had already reached out, but Aziraphale was only receptive when Crowley was a snake.

Aziraphale was not entirely not interested. 

He was glad they were talking, after all, but the way this conversation was going he started to fear he would have to say it out loud.

Before that, though—there was still one more thing that didn’t make sense. He just wasn’t sure if Crowley wanted to hear it.

“I think you’re right, that I did think about you a bit differently when you’re not human,” he started gently. Crowley hadn’t moved a muscle for a while as if petrified and Aziraphale worried he might have taken too long to reply. “But… you relied on it, didn’t you? You say you thought it was easier this way. Isn’t it you who thinks of himself as lesser like this—”

Crowley finally, finally turned around and looked at him, astonished.

“—_Crow_-ley?”

His mouth fell a bit open as he regarded Aziraphale with a very old feeling.

There followed a long silence.

It was no longer strained.

The flat didn’t feel still so much as it felt calm, now, and the dark shape of Crowley’s body lost the coiled quality of an animal ready to jump. Aziraphale sat deeper in his armchair.

They both knew it was true as soon as it had been said. Aziraphale saw it in Crowley’s eyes and Crowley must have seen something in his as well, because he kept on looking. The close scrutiny quickly started to become uncomfortable, and Aziraphale cast his gaze down, studying the harsh, concrete floor. He felt the conversation inescapably nearing that point where he had to become fragile as well, and ah, there went all the calmness.

Knowing his human-to-human touch was welcome had the effect of leading him to discover that he was quite taken with the idea of touching Crowley as he was now, actually: with four limbs and a mouth he can speak with—and, hm, not speak with.

Only—Crowley had said a lot of things, but he hadn’t exactly implied he would be interested in—that.

He was thinking of himself as unworthy, though. It was terrifying, and Aziraphale still needed to say it.

“For what it’s worth—it’s not that I wouldn’t. Strictly speaking,” he told the floor, and belatedly realised it might not be clear what he was talking about. Too late now. He hoped Crowley would remember and Aziraphale would be spared the agony of explaining himself further. “But you didn’t seem to like it the first time, so I understand if you’re not inclined… hm.” He couldn’t, he couldn’t even say it.

The silence was once again tense, but it didn’t last long. The couch creaked, and there was a whisper of clothing moving over leather; Crowley must have sat up.

“Maybe,” he started reluctantly, his voice quiet, but steady. “Maybe I just prefer to be kissed when I have a proper mouth to feel it. Or, you know. Kiss back, or something.”

Aziraphale stopped breathing. He hoped he heard it right, because he refused to make a mistake about this again. But he didn’t hear Crowley’s breaths either, so maybe he wasn’t going to.

“You—prefer?” He probably should have looked up. He didn’t.

“Hgh. I mean, quite different than kissing a reptile, that, sso. I understand you might not be interested.” 

Crowley took a deep breath, because it was hard to speak when you’re not supplying the air to breathe out; an easily forgettable thing, Aziraphale knew. They were still themselves. He gave a chuckle, then stopped, surprised.

“Oh, come on, let it go already.” He looked up to meet Crowley’s lovely yellow eyes. He met his lovely, small smile as well, and it was easy, then, so easy to stand up, take a few steps and sit down beside him, on the space left for him.

He could see him so much better from up close, the dishevelled hair, the lack of sleep, the slightly unsure crook of his smile, the feeling.

It was easy to be brave. Crowley had been brave first. Aziraphale took his hand, warm and soft.

“I’m still sorry. I didn’t get it, and I’m the furthest from wanting to feed into your self-depreciation,” he said, because he needed to, before. Crowley flexed his fingers in his hold and grunted.

“I’m sorry I’m self—like this.”

“Never be sorry you’re like anything.” This, too, was easy.

He tugged at Crowley gently until he sat sideways in his lap, suddenly startled mute.

“It’s not that different,” said Aziraphale thoughtfully, and Crowley shut him up before he could say something more silly.

They ended up on the floor again, somehow.

“Alright,” breathed Aziraphale some time later. “Very different.”

“Ssso I thought,” said Crowley and kissed him once more.

  


* * *

  


Living with someone exposes things you would never have known about yourself, Aziraphale has learnt.

Like: he didn’t seem to be able to stop touching Crowley’s hair now that they were reaching past his shoulders and almost always within reach. (“Do you know, I thought they looked very lovely even back at the Wall. With the wind and all. And all the coiffures, like the eighteenth century, yes, they were lovely too, but—are you planning to cut or, or coif them?” “No, I don’t think so,” murmured Crowley, closing his eyes as Aziraphale stroked his hair, scratching his scalp lightly from time to time. “Oh. I’m ever so glad. Of course if you wanted to—” “No, I don’t think so,” Crowley repeated, reaching up to card his fingers through Aziraphale’s short curls above his right ear with an expression of wonder. Aziraphale didn’t grow out his hair, but he felt something else growing, blossoming in him nowadays.)

Like: he loved reading aloud to Crowley just as much, and possibly more, than he liked reading by himself. (His tone dropped and raised as he was trying to imitate various character voices. Crowley scoffed at it, and made comments on the plot, and hissed, and laughed, always with his leg or tail or arm thrown over Aziraphale’s lap or shoulders. Always looking at him with the same unblinking yellow eyes, enraptured by the book, or something else, or both, drinking the words from Aziraphale’s mouth and sometimes, when he had a proper mouth himself, catching the words before they were out, so that they trod the line between speech and silence, on and off, on and off.)

Like: his body, an anchor of stability for millenia on end, was still a thrillingly uncharted territory. (Crowley’s bed was much more comfortable than his couch, Aziraphale thought as he waited for him to emerge from a mid-afternoon nap. “What would you say to a spot of lunch, dear?” he asked as soon as one bleary eye blinked at him from over the pillow. The eye scowled, and Crowley threw a heavy, hot arm over Aziraphale stomach, pinning him in place. “Old habits die hard, huh?” he mumbled. Aziraphale looked at him seriously. “I guess some of them do, and some needn’t die at all, dear.” Crowley’s hand moved upwards to trace the protrusions of Aziraphale’s collarbones, accessible through his slightly unbuttoned shirt, and Aziraphale lost his train of thought to a surprising trail of goosebumps. He shivered. Sighed. Prepared himself to stay in bed for quite a while yet before dragging Crowley out for dinner. “I cherish the new ones, though,” he hummed, smiling, and let himself be caressed.)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Kisss!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25661050) by [SkyAsimaru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyAsimaru/pseuds/SkyAsimaru)


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